


Rules of Being a Toy

by WiseCactus



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Reader is a plushie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29875038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiseCactus/pseuds/WiseCactus
Summary: There are a few rules to being the toy of a child. It's just unfortunate that you're the toy of Goro Akechi.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Rules of Being a Toy

**We are blank slates; born without name or gender. As such, we are what our children declare us to be. Accept this, and whatever they say you are.**

The pure white lights coming from the ceiling are extremely bright, encompassing the metallic shelf you rest on with a neutral glow. Said shelf brings a chill down your cluster stuff spine, bringing your soft minky bottom to a temperature cooler than the rest of your body. For the past year or so, this has been your existence; a simple plush toy sitting on the shelf of a gift shop.

Well, simple is understating it; you’re actually rather high quality for a plush toy sold by a planetarium. Not that you were made by the planetarium; you’re actually a part of a rather popular line of plush toys based on the various constellations. In particular, Corvus; a small black crow with white stars scattered across its body. It’s a design similar to all the other toys made by the brand, and apparently a popular, well liked one too, as you can tell by all the children grabbing your surrounding brethren.

Now if only someone would actually choose you for once.

Today is, of course, another day of sitting on the shelf, watching children come pass without a single glance to you, and if their vision even passes by you, it turns out they’re focusing on the Vulpecula on your right or the Delphinus on your left, and pick one they like, taking them to the world you’ll never see. The thought brings you to a boil, your head churning with frustration. Are they just not interested in you? Are crows just not popular? Is the story of Corvus too dark for a child to like? Not like you’ll ever know.

The day continues ticking on, and soon the sky is a beautiful blue; the same as the singular sign you can see outside at night. People have passed to and fro without consideration, taking the surrounding plushies with them. At this point, you might as well just give up on your hopes of being chosen. No one cares about some cursed bird, and no one ever will. You will sit here until you get thrown out, and you’ll decay in some landfill for the rest of eternity.

A pair of eyes that’s the same color as your own appears in your own vision, filled with curiosity. Oh great, another one looking at everything but you. If you had vocal cords, you would make the longest, most tiresome sigh in the world; just pick your fox or dolphin and go already. Though oddly enough, his eyes seem to be trained on you, piercing into the small sparks of consciousness you call a soul, his brown hair falling in front of his face by just the tiniest bit. Only a handful of kids ever looked at you like this, but it unfortunately never led to anything, so seeing this just feels like the universe itself is mocking you. 

He stands on his toes as he reaches up to you. **You.** Out of all the plushies on the shelf, it’s you. His hand is warm, and grips you a bit too tight, but it’s a welcome feeling. The feeling of warmth encasing you fills your nonexistent nervous system as he wraps his arms around you, pressing your wings to your sides, shoving you into his chest and placing his face into you. Your beak is poking into his chest, and your small gray feet are being cupped with an arm underneath you. Your decently long black tail rests on said arm.

Has this ever happened to you before? 

Is this what it feels like to be loved?

No, it’s still too early to think you’ll be chosen. You’ve seen this exact scene happen before, and sometimes the unfortunate toy would be returned to the shelf, a somber weight pulling the child’s face into a frown. That’s going to happen to you; you don’t deserve to be happy, after all. You’re Corvus; the cursed crow. You’ll always hunger for love, and never get it, just like how Corvus never will quench its thirst and never get water.

His face lifts from its place on your head, and he starts moving. The feeling of movement feels foreign to you; the only times you’ve felt this was when you were still in the box, heading to this hellhole of a place. He carries you towards a woman staring at a kiosk covered entirely with magazines on various astronomical topics; his mother, you assume. One hand leaves your body for a second to poke his mother a few times, and she turns around, giving her son a bright smile. She kneels down to meet his height.

“What is it Goro?” She asks with a bright lilt in her voice. The boy now known as Goro pulls you away from his chest, proudly showing you off to her with a toothy grin. “Aw, that’s a cute little bird you got there!”

“Can I keep her?” Goro’s high pitch voice settles into your mind. He wants to keep you, and thinks you're a girl for some reason. Not that you have a gender built into you; the tag attached to your wing telling the story of Corvus never referred to Corvus with male or female pronouns; just as “it.” But there’s no time to look into the boy’s odd word choice; this is the moment of truth, the decision that determines whether or not you’ll spend the rest of your existence in a dump or Goro’s bedroom. The woman’s eyebrows furrow, her fingers cupping her chin. She loudly hums, staring at the price sticker on your chest, and then back to her son’s innocent eyes.

“I think I could spare some cash for her.”

Holy shit. It finally happened. You’re going home.

You can’t express your joy, but you have no need to; Goro’s bouncing up and down, and shouts “yay!’ loudly enough for his mother to shush him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get to the check out,” she states, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him to the machine you only heard about in myths and legends.

The actual process of being bought was surprisingly quick. And had way less fanfare for being such a momentous occasion; only a simple beep, a flash of red light, and it’s done. Goro brought you back into his chest at the speed of light the moment the cashier handed you back to him. The warmth of his body greatly contrasts with the cool breeze outside. He opens your wings for the first time, flapping them to simulate flight, and you imagine that you are flying.

“So, why did you want Cor-?”

“Her name is Y/N!” he shouts. Y/N. That’s an interesting name to choose for you. You never heard of this name either. Is it foreign?

“Okay, okay. Y/N. Why did you want her?” Goro stops walking and looks down, tapping his foot and humming a bit.

“She’s cute and pretty!” he chirps, giving a closed eye, open mouth smile.

“Is there any other reason?”

“She looked lonely. I wanted to give her a home.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll love her forever; won’t you, Goro?”

“Yes mommy! I will love her forever!”

And it’s now your duty to love him forever, and from the look of it, that won’t be hard.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Unfortunately, we exist in a world in which children can suffer. You may encounter abuse, natural disasters, death of loved ones. We cannot intervene in these things; only provide comfort.**

The cool breeze of the front door swinging open gently wisps by your damp face, contrasting the warmth of the bag you sit in and refreshing you from the long, gruesome day at elementary. You and the boy that you know as Goro Akechi have just arrived home. 

Which is dark, for some reason. The apartment that you and him reside in usually isn’t dark at this time. And it’s rather cold too, as you can feel Goro shiver underneath you. He looks around the entrance, searching for Mom.

Usually, Mom would come by his elementary school at the end of the day and drive him home, listening to Goro babble on about what happened that day. But today, oddly enough, she didn’t arrive. For an hour or so, you and Goro stood at the entrance of the school, caught in a downpour, waiting for her, before Goro decided to just walk home. Luckily he knows his way through the maze that is the wide and expansive city of Tokyo, so the journey home was fairly calm. Too calm for this particular part of the city.

Something’s off; you can feel it.

“Mommy?” Goro finally breaks the silence, his soft, youthful voice echoing throughout the room as he approaches the living room. “Mommy, I’m home!”

The TV buzzes on the shopping channel, flashing large, colorful numbers and letters to an empty sofa. As Goro approaches it, the ancient floorboards beneath him buckle by the tiniest bit, eninating an eerie groan. He checks the table, and it’s also empty; the items that once sat on it and the couch were scattered onto the carpeted floor, like a tornado had torn up the place. The boy tilts his head at the TV, enamored by the lights for a second before gazing upon the piles of magazines, glass shards, and TV remotes that now litter the living room.

“Mommy?” He calls again, hoping for an answer. One never comes, and the air gets colder. 

He walks his way to the kitchen, gazing upon the small bar. A ripped envelope and a set of also ripped photos sit on the counter, some falling onto the floor from the force of Goro passing by. As far as you can piece together from what you can see, they display pictures that are very inappropriate for a child. You vaguely recall Mom being rather secretive about her work, only saying that she “made men less lonely.” Seeing this, you can now figure out exactly what she meant by that. Poor woman.

Goro calls out for Mom again, and doesn’t get a reply. He shivers from under you, the cold slowly closing in on you and him. He makes his way to the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The air is stale. 

His bedroom. Nothing. 

The darkness calls to you, as if telling you the answer. 

Oh, if only you can speak, because it’s obvious what happened now.

Goro now stands in front of the door to Mom’s bedroom, knocking on it. “Mommy? I’m home!” he shouts, unsure but hopeful for an answer. Once again, the only answer he gets is the all consuming silence. He slowly reaches his hand to the doorknob, twisting it just as slow. The door groans as it inches open.

From the ceiling fan, hangs a woman’s limp, slightly blue body, strangled from the rope that is fastened around her neck. A chair lies down on the floor, knocked over by a force that has been applied upon it.

It’s Mom. She’s dead. And you have no ability to explain this is little Goro.

“Mommy?” he asks, curiosity and concern filling his voice. “I’m home.” He approaches the corpse, the pitter-patter of his tiny feet echoing around the bedroom. “Why didn’t you pick me up?” He reaches to the body, shaking it, causing it to swing back and forth.

You want to scream. 

“Mommy, answer me!” he shouts, voice cracking. He shakes her again. And again. And again. Each poke and prod only makes the carcass swing back and forth. He starts to choke, as if the room was rendered a vacuum, and you wish that you can spread your wings over him like a blanket. Then he whimpers. Then sobs. He sits down onto the floor, curling up in a fetal position while reaching out for you, pulling you out of his bag. You are held tightly against his chest; a feeling you’ve familiarized yourself with by now, and your body soaks in the barrage of water as salty as the sea. He shakes, and shoves his face into you, whispering “Mommy” and “wake up” over and over.

Unfortunately, she’ll never wake up. And you can do nothing about it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**We live in a world where children do not stay children forever. They grow up; getting taller, becoming more worldly. Their view of you may change. For the special few, you will be changed from best friend, to a mere item of sentimental value. Do not fear this; they will love you all the same.**

The dust of the bedroom whips around you as Goro puts his school uniform on, twirling as if in a dance. He’s illuminated by the sun filtering through the dirty window by the mattress you sit on. His damp skin glistens in the light, standing as a sharp contrast to the dull walls that encase the both of you.

You can never really get used to this scenery. Since, in a few months or so, you’ll get into a car and drive to a new location and reside in another room. How long has this been happening for? You know it’s been years, but you have long since lost the exact number. 

And the people keep changing too, each one having a different temperament. Sometimes they would ignore Goro, almost to the point of forgetting him completely, leading to the both of you being left out in the pouring rain or locked in sweltering heat waves for hours. Others would yell and scream, punching and slapping him in anger, leaving bruises all over his body. The first few times this happened, he would bawl his eyes out, holding onto you like letting go would kill him. But now, it seems like his tear ducts have dried out entirely; the light that was once in his eyes is absent, leaving them dull and vacant.

At the very least, this morning routine remained consistent; he would wake up, brush his teeth, take a shower, put on clothes, and throw you into his bag before heading to school. Sure, your head no longer sticks out of the bag, but that doesn’t really matter; you can tell he still loves you. 

At least, you think he does.

“Akechi-kun! Hurry up or you’ll be late!” a loud, abrasive voice calls out, muffled by the closed door. Goro flinches and turns his head towards the sound’s source.

“Yes sir! Coming!” he replies, voice quivering by the tiniest bit as he combs his hair with his fingers. He grabs his coat and bag, speeding out the door.

Wait… what!? He left!? **Without you!?** Surely, this is a mistake, and he’ll correct it in a moment.

The sound of footsteps rapidly sprinting back fills your nonexistent ears, filling you with a sense of relief. He rushes to the mattress, picking you up and holding you close to his heart.

And then puts you back down, slamming the door behind him.

The world seems to slow down. He left you behind intentionally. The room grows deathly cold, your mind frenzied with a terrifying thought. He’s older now; nearly a teenager. Teenagers don’t play with toys, nor do they consider them friends. They only view them as objects. 

The day passes on, and you can’t help but feel like you’re back at the planetarium, sitting on the shelf, waiting for someone to pick you up. 

You hope a shelf will be your final resting place. It’s much better than the alternative.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Children go down many different paths; some of which are worse than others. No matter what your child may do, no matter what direction they may take, love them, and do not judge.**

Upon your shelf, you gaze upon the darkness of Goro’s bedroom, wondering when your dusty resin eyes will see the light once again. The outlines of the furniture distort to look like people staring back at you with pity in their invisible eyes. They even seem to move, pointing at your washed out colors and fraying fabrics, as if to say “look at the abandoned queen on her wooden throne, and weep.” 

You release a mental sigh; Goro will return like he does everyday, and he will pass by you without even a glance toward you for the millionth time, barely resembling the boy you once knew. He looks perfect; perfectly groomed, smooth skin, well dressed, but it's obvious in his gait that something has died within him, and that that thing will never come back.

As if on cue, a bright light flashes above you, and when it dampens enough for functioning sight, there he is, with a face that is akin to that of a soldier marching into war. You can tell because, for the first time in ages, he stares at you head on, eyes trained on yours. Wordlessly, he reaches out, and harshly yanks you out of your spot, thrusting you into his bag. Why is he doing this? Where is he taking you?

Is it time for you to go?

Your stomach twists; it is, isn’t it? You’re no longer useful to him, and now you’re just taking up space that could be given to better, more important things. Since, you're an object, and every object ever created by man has one final destination. Though your visage is that of a bird, you are not Phoenix. 

You stare at the asphalt ground and Goro’s heavy, carefully placed steps through your caged window to the outside; a single netted portion of the bag that you conveniently landed in. It’s odd, seeing the outside world once again after having not so for so long. The bright sun burns your eyes, and the heat of the summer day encasing you feels almost unnatural. The wind seems to tickle you, and the dull colors of the city seem vibrant. It’s a nice sight to see before the end; one final glorious view before you can see no more.

The boy carries you through the bustling crowds until he arrives at the entrance of a familiar subway station, peering around as if making sure that no one will see him. It’s an odd move on his part; no one in Tokyo really cares about what you’re doing in the end, and what’s so suspicious about taking a toy to the garbage disposal?

Actually, now that you think about it, you’ve never been told that something like you is taken directly there by her owner; only thrown into a trash can, letting the garbage truck do the rest. Why is Goro bringing you there personally? Does he really view you so lowly that he must be the one to kill you? Surely, something else might be going on. Are you going to become a drug mule? Donated to someone else?

His hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out the fancy smartphone that he bought some months ago. He utters a simple word. 

“Mementos.”

The world melts into black and red pools of sludge, before shaping back into a darkened, empty version of the city. The foot of Goro, from what you can tell, now bears a coloring similar to the void and the night sky, strands of ripped fabric barely hanging onto his ankle. His well placed steps continue, slowly passing through the gate of the subway, entering further into its corridors. The further he goes, the more bioluminescent veins appear, pulsating and dripping a crimson liquid that you’ve rarely seen in your fairly short existence. The railroads underneath you also begin to twist, tiny ripples of red appearing in the reinforced steel. They squish as if they’re alive. The garbled echoes of screams, crying, and retching fill the air, a miasma of biological stench wafting throughout. Along the sides of the halls, large black creatures stand still like deer in headlights, fear evident in their pure white eyes. Some shiver uncontrollably, others flee as fast as they can, scrambling for an escape. Goro doesn’t even seem to notice, marching onwards.

What is this place? Is this Hell?

He continues to move further and further into this warped amalgamation of the human body and Shibuya Station, larger and more terrifying beasts running and shaking at the sight of him, until the sound of soft roaring can be heard. In front of him lies a red portal, the train tracks ripped out of their place to encircle it. He takes a deep breath, and passes through the glowing barrier into a dead end. A black haired woman stands in front of him, a tired look on her bespectacled face. She looks like she has already given up.

Your container moves as his hand reaches into it, and you feel a cold metallic item swish by you.

Then the sound of clicking. The woman’s face grows somber, her head tilting downwards in defeat. There's only a second of silence, but it feels like years. Oh how you’ve grown to hate silence now.

And then, the loudest sound you’ve ever heard bombards your poor, poor ears.

The woman’s head cracks open, the crimson liquid and white shrapnel flying everywhere, and she collapses onto the floor, fully limp.

Goro just killed someone.

The shock barely has time to settle as Goro turns away from the corpse, starting his march back to the entrance of this woman’s deathbed. How can he do that? What made him want to kill? Did he want you to see this?

What has the world done to your precious boy?

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Unfortunately, we live in a world where living beings die; this includes children. For the unfortunate few, they will find themselves in the hands of a dying child. This is something we never intervene in. We can only provide comfort and safety in their final moments of life.**

Muffled shouts and gunshots ring out everywhere, each one sounding more shaky then the last. You sit cooped up in the darkness of Goro’s back pocket, blocking out these sounds with your internal soliloquy. For the past few years or so, this has been your existence; the good luck charm of a hired killer.

Actually, hired killer doesn’t sound like a good descriptor for Goro now. Monster fits better. You’re the good luck charm of a monster. It’s hard to imagine Goro as human anymore, anyway, with all the blood that’s on his hands now. It’s sickening, though you don’t fight back. You can’t, anyway.

Your nonsensical talk about some random topic stops when, after one final burst of noise, you are smashed between a wall and the warm body of the monster that owns you. The world once again grows quiet, the final echoing of a gunshot dissipating into thin air. For a few peaceful minutes, you bask in the sound of silence, a sound that you once despised now your only solace in your twisted existence.

Slowly, a quivering hand pulls you out of the pocket, and you find yourself in a large room with pipes climbing up the walls, humming a bit from the machines attached to them. The room is cast in a red glow from the lights far overhead. Goro presses you to his damp chest, blood as red as the lights above seeping into you.

Blood. He’s bleeding. He got hurt. 

The top of your head, meanwhile, experiences the gentle trickling of liquid; a feeling that splits your heart in two. He’s crying. Crying for the first time in years. He holds you for several more minutes, a suspicious sense of peace flooding the room. He breaks the silence with the worst possible words anyone, living or nonliving, could ever hear.

“I don’t want to disappear, Y/N. Help me. Please.” He whimpers, voice frail, quaking with a fear you’ve never seen him exhibit since the first time you entered the mental worlds he takes you too, or finally left the foster system for good. You’re quick to put everything together. The shaking, the crying, the bleeding. The nightmare of all toys is happening, and you have the misfortune of being one of the few who live it.

Goro Akechi is dying.

And your patience finally breaks.

For your entire existence, you’ve been bound by five rules. Five wretched rules that prevented you from saving the boy you love, time and time again. You could not save his mother, only comfort. You could not prevent the abuse and neglect he went through, only be there as a safety blanket. You couldn’t prevent him from becoming the assassin of a corrupt politician, only watch. That’s all you’ve done; watched, a mere observer of life. The being that breathed these rules at the beginning of time itself cursed you to live out this very moment. God, you hope that he will one day watch the one he loves die, so that he can understand the grueling misery of what he allowed.

The blood and tears continue to seep in, the vice grip Goro has on you steadily loosens as his shaking slows. You come to a boil.

If only you can come to life; let the air fill your lungs and fly on wings of felt and carry him out of here, but you know you can’t. Even in a world where anything can happen, you’re still just an object. You’re not an actual living crow, only an amalgamation of fabrics and stuffing with the purpose of being a simple plaything for a young human being.

You’re cursed. You’ve always been cursed. You’re Corvus; the cursed crow. Cursed to never get what she desires; always out of reach.

“I love you, Y/N.” It’s weak and muffled, but you can hear it as clear as day. 

  
If only you can say that you love him too. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've noticed that most of the stories in this tag are usually exploring romance or friendship. I wanted to explore a different kind of relationship; that between a child and their favorite toy. Now, I'm not entirely sure about the quality of this story, but I've had this idea for a few years or so, so I'm happy that it finally got to at least see the light of day.


End file.
